


Salt in a Wound.

by MaybeWren



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dunno what to tag this, Friends to Enemies, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Skips, Trans Floris | Fundy, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, Wilbur Soot-centric, hurt not exactly comfort, i promise the story is better than the tags, refences to the minecraft but series, someday i'll make sally a tag and y'all will cry in pain, this actually isn't a crack fit and will break your heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeWren/pseuds/MaybeWren
Summary: Wilbur's always left alone.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot/Sally the Salmon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 104





	Salt in a Wound.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, warning that there's a couple of mentions of alcohol and drinking, and it's implied that Schlatt is an alcoholic.

She has shocking red hair and eyes the same shade of brown as his guitar. She smells of sea salt and it seems as though she could blow over in a breeze. Her skirt flutters in the wind, and it would be mistaken for billowing smoke. 

“Hello, Miss,” Wilbur says with a smile. “Can I ask your name?”

She laughs. “It’s Sally.”

“Wilbur,” He answers.

They eventually get together and he calls it love. Despite her flighty nature and how she’ll leave for months at a time, he calls it love. 

Wilbur writes her songs and they have a daughter Sally barely sees. It gets harder and harder to recall Sally’s voice and face, but they love each other. He does his best to push down the nausea that rocks through him after thinking about her. It has to be love, what else could it be?

The weight of his daughter is as good as the weight of his sword. Her laughs are better than that of a crowd. He attempts to tell himself that his girlfriend and daughter are better than his old friends. He writes them songs, but Sally’s reactions are strained at best. Before long, she’s gone again. Wilbur’s daughter barely reacts other than meaningless giggles and wide eyes. 

He can barely sleep anymore. Wilbur tosses and turns within his bed as Sally sleeps peacefully in the other room. His eyes are made of lead yet he still can’t sleep. One day Sally walks out and never comes back. Wilbur is left alone to raise their daughter. 

Wilbur notices when his child starts to draw away. He knows that it’s a normal thing for children to go through, but Wilbur’s still not prepared. It leads to him staring at the door and eventually knocking. Wilbur waits for a response but receives none. He opens the door to the smell of sweat and dust.

His child looks up from the narrow bed. “Get out of my room.”

Wilbur sighs. “I’m worried about you.”

“I said get out.”

“F-” Wilbur starts.

“That’s not my name.”

Wilbur pauses. Nothing could’ve prepared him for this conversation. “What is your name?”

“Fundy. I’m a guy,” He answers, picking apart the threads in his blanket.

Wilbur smiles and takes a couple of steps forward. “Okay, can I do anything to help you?’

Fundy looks up. “Really? You’re okay with that?”  
  


Wilbur shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Fundy smiles for the first time in what might be months.

Years later Schlatt shows up on Wilbur’s doorstep after years of no contact. Rain has fallen the entire day, it’s patter non-stop. It’s consistent as Wilbur thoughtlessly strums his guitar and Fundy works on homework in the other room. Thoughts drift in and out of Wilbur’s mind, none desperate to cling on. There’s a knock at the door and he puts the guitar back in its stand. Wilbur makes his way through the house, it’s probably just a confused delivery man. Wilbur opens the door and freezes.

Schlatt wears the same lazy grin that haunts Wilbur’s worst nights. “Miss me, loverboy?”

Wilbur goes to turn him away but Fundy walks up behind him.

“Who’re you?” He asks and Wilbur doesn’t even have time to talk before Schlatt’s speaking.

“I could ask the same about you, buddy.”

Fundy crosses his arms. “How do you know my dad?”

Schlatt blinks and looks back up at Wilbur. “You had a child and didn’t tell me?”

Wilbur just sighs. “We haven’t spoken in years.”

Wilbur enters the kitchen hours later during the night to see Schlatt heavily leaning on the counter. A half empty bottle sits on the counter next to him and Wilbur can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the smell. 

“Are you fucking drinking?”

Schlatt laughs, “You’re acting like a child.”

Wilbur walks closer and snatches the bottle. “I don’t know what I expected from you.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” He slurs.

Wilbur wants nothing more than to smash the bottle, but he holds back. “You always do this. One drink turns to two turns to more. I thought you would’ve gotten your shit together by now.”

Schlatt snorts. “You’re just being a bitch. Thought you grew up by now.”

Wilbur puts the bottle away and sucks in a breath. “Shut up.”

“C’mon _Wilby_ , I’m not lying.”

Wilbur grips the counter, knuckles turning white. “Schlatt, shut the fuck up.”

Schlatt smiles. “Ooh, you’re getting upset, aren’t you? You still mad about the lava?”

Wilbur whips around. “I am literally covered in scars because of you. People stare at me and judge my son for your fucking actions.”

Schlatt rolls his eyes. “You’re just being overdramatic.”

  
“ _You don’t even live here!_ ” Wilbur yells. He catches sight of Fundy standing in the doorway behind Schlatt and freezes.

“No wonder everyone leaves. Who could ever like you?” Schlatt chuckles.

In all their years apart Wilbur had forgotten the way that Schlatt had weaponized his voice. It’s far different from the way Wilbur has. Schlatt’s eyes are made of stone and his tongue is made of wire. His suit is perfectly pressed to maintain an image that he will never be. He's only gotten more abrasive since they were teenagers while Wilbur’s only grown more fragile.

“Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Schlatt stumbles out with a huff. Wilbur looks to where Fundy was standing, but he’s disappeared. In his room, Wilbur curls into his bed. His breath is ragged and hard to catch. Wilbur is drowning in memories, unable to escape their ocean.

Wilbur and Schlatt’s teenage games of life or death. The manic look in Schlatt’s eyes as he dumped lava on Wilbur leaving him permanently scarred. The agonizing pain that lasted only moments before his body fell into shock. Phil’s advice ringing through his ears, but unable to do anything. Schlatt laughing above him. The agonizing minutes it takes to die.

Returning home. The weighted silence after he took off his shirt to treat the wounds from explosions only to reveal scars from lava. The crushing weight of Techno’s disappointment after Phil called him in to lend an extra hand. Wilbur wasn’t supposed to see Schlatt again. He snuck out for months until he was old enough to move away. 

Sally tracing patterns on his scars and pressing kisses into the skin. Fundy’s probing questions and how he made up all kinds of absurd stories instead of telling the truth. Wilbur still hates his scars. He would do almost anything from them to be gone.

Wilbur studies himself in the mirror for the first time in years in the morning. Burn scars still circle his torso and creep down his thighs, up his neck, and across his arms. They caress his jaw but don’t dare to touch his face. Wilbur traces patterns on the scars. It quickly turns into picking at the skin. 

There’s the patter of small feet against the wooden floor. The sound stops outside his door. “Dad?”

Wilbur lets out a sigh and lowers his hands. “I’m fine.” He lets out a breath and moves away from the sink. Fundy sits outside the door when he opens it and neither says a word.

His mental health only declines after that.

He loses more sleep and locks himself in his room for hours on end. Wilbur self-medicates with lyrics and a few glasses of wine, although he’s careful not to drink much. Fundy still relies on Wilbur, no matter how much he insists that being fifteen in human years means that he’s an adult. Wilbur doesn’t want to turn out like Schlatt, all his bad habits consuming him.

Wilbur knows that the other parents judge him, and so do the teachers. In a town where everyone is perfect he sticks out like a sore thumb. The young father of a teenage boy whose girlfriend left them. The loner who barely talks to anyone else. The kid who played guitar on the streets for extra cash all that time ago.

Fundy waits at home during conferences. He doesn’t want to be with Wilbur as the teachers talk about him as though he’s not there. Wilbur doesn’t blame him, he acted the same while in school. He knows the look that the teachers hold as they talk. He’s well acquainted with their silent judgement and the way they catalogue every word that comes out of Wilbur’s mouth. The way that their eyes linger on his worn sweater and hands stained by ink. He watches their eyes trace the scars that peak out of his sweater with a grimace on their face. Wilbur leaves the building with a quiet sigh, doing his best to hide the relief.

There’s not much to do in a small town. Fundy pulls himself away from Wilbur’s protective grasp as he grows. It’s to be expected, but a part of him still aches. If Sally were here, they would dance around each other and practically make it a game to avoid the other. If Schlatt were here, he would fill the silence with laughter and jokes almost taken too far. If his family were here, they would provide silent support and distract from the rat race in his mind. Wilbur stares at the walls as hours pass by. He can see why most of the other townspeople like to gossip so much. If only they could find a topic other than him and his son.

He still has to go out in town. Sometimes Fundy comes with him, most of the time he does not. Instead Fundy hangs out with his friends. Wilbur doesn’t pry, it would only make him pull away more. They need to have somewhat of a functioning relationship.

Wilbur hates passing the church while out. It brings back memories of an island in the sky, practically every block imaginable combining into a hideous mess. It brings back memories of Techno crying, blood and his hands and muttering and nonexistent voices. It brings back memories of Tommy shouting at his god, one that Wilbur doesn’t have the heart to tell him doesn’t exist. It brings back memories of rising water. It brings back memories of betrayal and burning skin. It brings back memories of explosions and the ground trembling underneath him.

He tells none of this to Fundy as he begs for permission to go on the field trip. He just wants out of school. He doesn’t understand why Wilbur’s hands and breaths shake with memories. Hell, the school teachers would likely accuse him of blasphemy. Another perk of being in a small town. However, Wilbur agrees to let him go and signs up as a volunteer.

It smells of burning candles and incense when he enters the church as a parent volunteer. Polished wooden pews line the aisle, a bible and song book in the shelf behind each. Stained glass windows depict the stories and so-called miracles. The priest stands in front of the altar, practically advertising the religion to teenagers.

The teenagers speak in too-loud whispers, the teachers the row behind consistently shushing them. Fabric whispers as Wilbur uncomfortably shifts in his seat at the back row. He’s choking on the lingering smell of wood polish and cleaners. His collar is far too tight and his nice shoes don’t quite fit. People nod along to the priest, unknowing of the cruelty the gods display. Wilbur silently taps his fingers against his thigh in an attempt to distract himself. The priest makes his way down the aisle, reciting a prayer and dropping holy water on those who don’t refuse. The school claimed that it was for cultural immersion, but he highly doubts that’s the case. They wouldn’t get away with it if there was any other large religion in the town.

Wilbur is the final person he stops in front of. His mouth is held shut and he can’t refuse the priest. It would reflect badly onto Fundy. Wilbur can barely hear the priest over his roaring heart. He flinches back from the flick of cool water hitting his exposed skin. He makes his way back up the aisle, the smell of his cologne still lingering. Wilbur can feel the stares leave him one by one, although some still linger.

He feels like a kid again, opening his eyes after all the horror to a church for the sky gods. Practically everyone there regarded it as a miracle and him the result of some prophecy, when in reality he was just a scared child who wanted to go home. He can recall the way he shot to his feet as Phil finally arrived after begging for him to be contacted. Wilbur had immediately clung onto him, streaking his clothes with blood and grime. He can remember being scooped into Phil’s arms as he took off to fly them home where Techno waited.

The gods are cruel monstrosities. The blood god cursed Techno with voices and a craving for blood. The sky gods plucked Wilbur from his home and threw him into worlds meant to traumatize. He doesn’t understand why they worship the pantheon. All they bring is pain and terror.

He’s torn from his memories by Fundy tugging on his sleeve. “Dad, we’re leaving now.”

Wilbur nods and forces himself onto shaking legs as they follow the rest of the crowd. He can feel the priest’s eyes follow him and can’t help but wonder how far the story spread. Still, he’s just happy to be out of that place.

For the first time in what might be years, Wilbur finds himself missing Phil. He misses his soft words and awkward laughs. He misses Phil picking at his hair as an attempt to preen it. He misses the instinctual clicking of his tongue in an attempt to comfort him. Sometimes Wilbur still finds himself mimicking the sound to soothe himself or Fundy. 

Wilbur jolts from sleep that night. Sweat plasters hair to his forehead and his breathing is incredibly ragged. Wilbur clutches his blanket and attempts to orient himself. He’s not at an island or far off world, he’s at his small house in the middle of a tiny town. Eventually Wilbur pulls himself from the bed and stumbles across the hall. The door to Fundy’s room creaks as he opens it. Clothing covers the floor and the air reeks of body spray. Fundy’s binder lays on the floor next to his bed. The communicator on the desk buzzes with a late night message and Wilbur slightly jumps. Fundy doesn’t move from where he’s curled on the bed. Wilbur shuts the door and leaves.

Wilbur sits back on his bed and pulls out his notepad again. He goes to write about Sally for the first time in years but finds it hard to recall her. Flashes of red hair and manilla eyes. Nights left alone with Fundy after she walks out time and time again. Maybe he’s finally let her go. In the morning Fundy stumbles into the kitchen where Wilbur already stands. His eyes squint with sleep and Wilbur can’t help the small smiles that slips onto his face. Someday he’ll be able to look in the mirror and not be terrified of being ripped from his home. 

“Have a good day at school,” Wilbur says.

Fundy nods and calls out a _“Love you,”_ as he walks out the door. It’s easy, it’s routine. The mornings shouldn’t change anytime soon.

It reaches the anniversary of Wilbur’s original disappearance. A decade of the sky gods’ torture. He wants to vomit at the realization. No part of him wants to leave the bed he’s curled in. Fundy peaks into his room but is quick to leave for school. Wilbur’s never hinted to Fundy what happened, why he shakes when passing the church or how some days he can barely move.

Wilbur does eventually manage to stand and leave the bed. He dresses in a worn yellow sweater, it’s weight and texture providing comfort with familiarity. Wilbur stops in the bathroom and stares at the scars crawling across his skin. Logically, he knows they’re not going to change before his eyes. They’ve painted his skin for years, one day won’t change anything. Wilbur silently turns off and leaves. He doesn’t bother to do anything and only collapses onto the chair. His fingers itch for his guitar, but there’s no way they’d be able to form the proper chords. He lays there for hours on end, too overwhelmed and trapped in memories to stand.

“I’m home,” Fundy yells as he enters the house.

Wilbur doesn’t respond.

Fundy drops his backpack and makes his way through the house. Wilbur can hear him stop upon catching sight of him. He walks closer and eventually emerges into Wilbur’s sight. “Are you okay?”

Wilbur lets out a breath and doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to worry Fundy, but he doesn’t want to lie. Someday he will be, but that day is not today.

**Author's Note:**

> I worked on this fic for over a month and hate that fact. Someone help me. This was originally a sad joke fic based on a song.
> 
> [Main Tumblr](https://maybewren.tumblr.com/)


End file.
